This third attempt at a relationship faltered because although I was grateful, I was no longer submissive; Lottie had put fire in my belly. Douglas didn’t like that and said he was bored. That stung, but it made things easier. Despite his initial reluctance to be a father, he worshipped Lottie so, as long as I shared her with him, he appeared to be content to let me go. I met Nick nine months later.

But it wasn’t as simple or unstrained as it first seemed. Nothing ever is with Douglas. He knows the worst of me and thinks it gives him permission to retain that paternal familiarity that infuriates Nick, who is no fool. It’s as though Douglas allows me to be with Nick while he retains ultimate ownership. As he demonstrated today, it’s in his body language and it’s in the subtle nuances of what he says or doesn’t say.

And yet, when he left me just now, it was like a cold breeze blowing through my house.

NICK

July 2000

HE’S LYING ON A RUG, LISTENING TO THE CLIPPED TOCK-TOCK of ping-pong balls coming from the barn. The sun is beating down on his bare back, hopefully doing his spots some good. The book Angus has loaned him, The Prince by Machiavelli, isn’t quite the distraction he needs, but he’s determined to read it anyway because he doesn’t want Angus to think he’s a lightweight. He lives for the evenings, when they’re all gathered around the big table on the terrace and Taisie has no power. He’s surprised at how long she’s been able to keep it up, not to mention maintain her sway over the others. And he’s beginning to wonder about himself. Is he who he thinks he is, an ordinary boy, or is he the way she seems to see him? Like the kids that get bullied at school because they’ve made the mistake of showing weakness. He’s never felt that doubt before, the kind that eats away at your confidence. It feels like a sickness, not a mental state. It’s not that he’s upset, though of course he is; it’s something that goes deeper, that feels like it’s growing into him, like scar tissue.

A shadow falls over his chest and face, and he turns his head, squinting into the sun. It’s Taisie.

‘What do you want?’ he asks.

He raises his eyes to the frayed denim shorts and the halter neck top. Her hair is tied up messily.